Chapter 5 - SIX HUNDRED TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS
“There is no six hundred twenty thousand dollars.”
I said it slowly.
Detective Bennett nodded.
“We know.”
“Then why is that number there?”
“We believe it represents projected assets.”
I looked at the list beneath it.
House equity.
Retirement accounts.
Life insurance.
Construction company stock.
Emergency savings.
Amy’s small inheritance from her grandmother.
My mother had added everything together.
Every asset Amy and I had.
Then placed the total beside my son’s name.
“That isn’t a college fund.”
Amy whispered.
“No.”
Bennett said.
“It looks more like an inventory.”
The word made me sick.
An inventory.
My family had been reduced to numbers.
Our house.
Our savings.
My retirement.
Amy’s inheritance.
Even the insurance policy that would pay out if I died.
Bennett showed us another page.
It contained a handwritten plan.
PHASE 1 - MANAGEMENT AUTHORITY.
PHASE 2 - PROPERTY TRANSFER.
PHASE 3 - CUSTODIAL CONTROL.
I stared at the last phrase.
“What does custodial control mean?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Amy suddenly squeezed my hand.
I looked at her.
“What?”
She was pale again.
“Teresa asked me whether I had postpartum depression.”
I remembered that conversation.
My mother had called me one afternoon.
She said Amy seemed overwhelmed.
She suggested therapy.
At the time, I thought she was concerned.
“What exactly did she ask?”
Amy swallowed.
“If I ever felt like running away.”
Bennett began taking notes.
“What else?”
“If I was afraid I might hurt myself.”
“Did you say yes?”
“No.”
“She kept asking?”
“Yes.”
My pulse accelerated.
“She asked whether I felt capable of taking care of Frederick alone.”
Bennett stopped writing.
“How many times?”
“Several.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I was tired.”
Amy looked at me.
“Because I was.”
Of course she was.
She had a newborn.
I was working sixty-hour weeks.
And my mother had been making her life harder while pretending to help.
Bennett leaned back.
“If someone intended to challenge a parent’s fitness, statements about mental health could be used as part of that strategy.”
Amy stared at her.
“You think she wanted my baby?”
“We don’t know.”
But we all knew what the documents suggested.
Phase three.
Custodial control.
My mother had not simply wanted my money.
She wanted leverage over my wife.
And possibly my son.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
There was a photograph.
It showed Teresa inside my house weeks earlier.
She was standing beside my desk.
Holding my passport.
May you like
The message beneath it contained one sentence.
Your mother isn’t the person you should be afraid of.
